


Because I'm Needed

by Lil_Hal



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: College Backstory, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:42:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Hal/pseuds/Lil_Hal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Wesley and Wilson Fisk attend the same college and by a stroke of fate, they cross paths and become friends. This friendship is one that will last longer than either of them expect, although shorter than either of them will want. </p><p>Just a simple multi-chapter story about how Wesley and "his employer" gained such a tight bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because I'm Needed

Honestly, college was the least riveting event that could possibly occur to James Wesley. He attended a rather prestigious college in New York, one that the scholarships he won in high school and funding from his family (if necessary) could all pay for. He arrived there eighteen years old and quickly blended in with the rest of his peers. He was majoring in law to, well, become a lawyer (as if _that_ wasn't a horrifically overdone job practice) but he kept out of any spotlights--he had dealt with that bullshit enough in high school. He knew better about what he wanted now, so he went quietly into the college scene. He would attend some parties with his roommate, Francis, although he preferred to read quietly in his room or take strolls around the campus. The atmosphere was clear and soothing, good for his sinuses. He became familiar with the campus quickly; directions were never a problem for Wesley, either.

The first two years were interesting at best, forgettable and unspectacular at worst. Wesley unsurprisingly found himself friendless, _unsurprisingly_ because he honestly had no desire to interact with the others around him. Most of the law kids were snotty, too into the whole "debate" thing than he preferred--not the good kind of debate, the I'm-right-you're-wrong debate that went absolutely nowhere was the specialty of the other students, Wesley found. It bored him even more, and he was constantly checking his watch for no particular time; he would walk around the campus, loop after loop after loop, counting the ticks of his watch as he went. That particular day, late in the second semester of his sophomore year, James Wesley had already gone through his classes for the day, and it was only two in the afternoon. Perks of being a morning person, he thought to himself with a small upturn of his lips before standing still and leaning his head back to squint at the clouds. There weren't many, and he could only hope that it would stay that way. The last thing the campus needed was more rain, they'd had a surplus of it the week before and Wesley wasn't too keen on getting his shoes very muddy _again_ so soon. 

About halfway through his fourth trip around the campus, he came across someone else on his path that he had never seen before. Naturally, he'd crossed many, many students and teachers and, whatever, through previous bored treks around, hell that was inevitable, but this was someone he had literally _never_ seen before, someone sitting alone on the hill most students used for picnics--but he wasn't eating, or reading, or anything. Wesley stopped short, furrowing his eyebrows and tilting his head slightly to the side. The other was older, Wesley could probably pinpoint him somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, with a stocky build and a bald head. He seemed pretty deep in thought, staring intently out over the streets surrounding the campus with his fingers twitching restlessly on his knees. 

Wesley inhaled sharply as he mentally made a decision, walking the couple paces forward towards the unfamiliar man. He invited himself to sit down, carefully settling on the grass and stretching his legs out in front of him. Damn, what he wouldn't give for a picnic blanket, he was not looking forward to washing any grass stains out of his jeans tonight. 

The moment Wesley sat down, the man clearly snapped out of his moment of deep thinking; he started a little and cast Wesley a confused look, brows together and he opened his mouth in almost a grimacing manner as he hesitated. Wesley waited a few beats before raising his eyebrows, managing to not move his attention to the other’s large hands that were fidgeting even more now. 

"Ex...cuse me... but..." The man's nose wrinkled slightly, not in any sign of disgust but perhaps more of a nervous habit, and his voice was gruff, his words sounding as though they were being pulled forcefully from his throat. "Do I... know you?" 

Wesley raised his eyebrows with a slight tilt of his head in response to the question, rubbing his hands together before settling them on his knees. "Well, ah, no; admittedly, I haven't even seen you around before today." He allowed himself a pause, his light eyes meeting the other's dark ones. "I was just curious as to what spiritual insight you might be drawing from the college traffic." 

There was a brief moment of silence where the man squinted at Wesley, prompting a tiny smile as a sign that his statement was meant to be taken as a joke. 

"...Right, I..." The man cleared his throat, providing his own small smile at Wesley. "...was just thinking. Sometimes there are... those moments where all you need... is time to sit, and to think." 

Wesley raised an eyebrow before he gave a nod. "That I can understand." He caught himself with a small "Oh," and stuck out his hand towards the other. "James Wesley, I'm a law student here, a sophomore." 

"Fisk--uh, Wilson, Fisk." He took Wesley's hand with an almost grateful look and shook it. When he pulled his hand back, Fisk swallowed and glanced away awkwardly as he finished his introduction. "I am... also a sophomore. Culinary student, you see. Started college late." His last two sentences were rushed, as though he wanted the words to be out and over, as though saying them quickly would give Wesley less time to comprehend them. 

"That is understandable." Wesley glanced around for the purpose of appearing discreet before leaning closer to Wilson Fisk, muttering a confession, "To tell you the truth, law is not as appealing as I had first assumed. Don't be surprised if I join you in the cooking." He allowed himself a smirk, adjusting to sit back in his regular position. "May get kicked out in the first week, all I know is a good mac and cheese." 

Fisk laughed a short, grunting noise with an amused shrug of his shoulders. "If you can make macaroni already, you are better than some of the chefs that study with me." 

Wesley pressed his lips tightly into a smile--not the same tight-lipped smile that was admittedly very similar but reserved for painfully unhumorous occasions, it was something more genuine--and shook his head in amusement, casting a glance down at his lap before fixing his gaze back on Fisk. "In all seriousness, I doubt I'll be pursuing a law degree after this year. I'm thinking business." 

"Business?" Fisk's gaze flicked from the grass to Wesley. "That's more appealing to you, than arguing cases? It all seems like... a lot of paperwork." 

"It may be." Wesley grimaced in consideration of Fisk's response. "There's more I can do with a business degree. More, ah, flexibility? When you're getting your law degree, you know you'll be dealing with law. Business... can be anything." Wesley squinted at the road, watching a driver swerve to avoid a careless squirrel. "It's just something I believe I'd prefer to do." 

"Hmm." Grass was being plucked by restless hands. 

The ripping of the lawn made Wesley suppress a cringe. Neither of them said anything for a while. 

The first to speak during the uncomfortable silence was actually Fisk--Wesley had become absorbed in watching a family pull to the side of the road to deal with a flat tire. The mother looked distressed, as mothers do, and the young son was leaning against the car with an annoyed expression. Wesley tipped his head to the side as he observed them, before Fisk broke the silence and his concentration with an attempt at smalltalk. 

“The weather… has been quite nice, as of late.” 

Wesley grimaced inwardly and then shot a look at Fisk. He could sense the apprehensive uneasiness from the man, hell he could _see_ it as he glanced down to watch Fisk play with his cufflinks, but weather talk was one of the occurrences that Wesley found torture enough that he considered it a punishment in one of the levels of hell. 

With a fleeting, pained smirk Wesley sat up straighter as he spoke. “I suppose, if you don’t mind getting your shoes dirty.” He caught Fisk’s regretful expression that confirmed that he was just really bad with conversation. 

“Ah, well… these shoes have been through enough that a little mud does not bother me so much.” Fisk swallowed; they both looked at his shoes for a moment. They had certainly been lasting some years, just from the look of them. 

Wesley gave his new acquaintance an actual glance over this time, noting the, well, _wornness_ of the clothing; not to the point of ripping, but little stains and weak spots in the fabric gave away just how often they had been used. "Even so, the status of your shoes doesn't diminish the feeling of the mud, your feet still getting soaked through their supposed ‘protection’, tracking the filth around and having to avoid getting it on your hands as you take your shoes off." He sighed audibly and looked back out at the street. The family and their car were gone. 

"I find that statement, and the feeling to be... applicable to many experiences in life," Fisk's slow, dragging speech sounded even more carefully chosen. "I suppose I would rather save the... focus for the bigger experiences." 

Wesley squinted at Fisk and then scoffed, not a condescending scoff but more of a empathetic gesture. "Yes, I guess my attention to every tiny displeasure has its cons." 

Fisk nodded, shifting to lean forward towards Wesley before seeming to think better of it. "What time is it?" 

Wesley gave Fisk a long look before he glanced down at his watch, raising an eyebrow as he read the time out loud, "Two forty-seven." 

"Ah, I have a class now." Fisk nodded at Wesley and stood, reaching down to help him up. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Wesley." 

"You too." Wesley returned the nod and adjusted his footing as he met Fisk's lingering stare. The other nodded slightly, turning to head back to the main part of the campus. Wesley smiled a little to himself as he watched the man he had just met walk away; he glanced down at the street and continued his trek around the campus, hoping to God he hadn’t acquired those grass stains.


End file.
